Final Rantings of Severus Snape
by candledot
Summary: Snape has a few choice words explaining why he has become the man he is, and his reason d'etre


RANT

Why I have not killed myself yet, I cannot fully explain - let's just say that a peculiar set of happenstance has prevented me from it thus far. I get close, timing is good - wham! Something comes up and gets in my way!!! That no one has beat me to my demise is even more shocking - God knows, I have my fair share of mortal enemies out there in the front lines, and I am cautious, but not paranoid like some others in my position….

Being safe is a feeling I have never truly known - I cannot pull up a memory where I wasn't cautious about my actions, how I moved, who I spoke with and when, how I addressed people… Any wrong move could wind up in a painful, er, predicament. Don't trust me, don't trust what is said around you or to you, don't trust a promise made.. all just words, all easily broken or turned against you , hollow lies to each other and oneself. My parents, you see, were VERY concerned about public appearances and being , …. , correct and appropriate (that I, be a boot-licking yes-man to everything they say) at all times, at all costs. The learning curve was significantly short and swift for me.

It's an interesting thing how you can stuff it all away, hide the pain and the anger and the hurt, hide the emptiness that can only be seen behind your eyes… funny how it comes out all on it's own, unbidden, outraged, wild in it's own self. I could tell you things that would turn your heart black, as mine has already become. Hard to control, harder still to hide, and once it starts, seems damn near impossible to get it to ever stop again. The worst is when I can't just turn it all onto myself…. It is no ones problem but mine, no ones " childhood" (sneer) but mine, no one else allowed themselves to be treated that way, saw what I saw felt what I felt….. the only people who were part of it, hmh, they aren't here to take it out on anymore, dealt with their own deaths and will probably relive ever mistake they ever make in hell, for eternity... maybe then they will figure out that they fucked up. Maybe... It's just wishful thinking. There was never any remorse before, why would the simple act of dying change anything at all?

Black.

I relate to that color - it is my soul, it is my mind , it is my heart and it is my core. There is nothing left within or without me anymore that is not just that. Black. Hollow

Empty . Abandoned. Severed. Destroyed. Disgusting.

Black rage. Why do people speak of seeing red. All I can see it Black. Violent Black. Black swirls in front of my eyes as I give into the demon in me. Taking out the razors , I half expect what comes out of my veins to be the same color, Black blood seeping out of me. Creature of the night I have become, it only makes sense that I might be a black-blooded creature.

THE NIGHT - no eyes to watch me, doors locked securely, safe on my own now, no one can come and get me, unsuspecting/// it s so much better, now, not fearing being attacked, not worrying about he physical abuse… The hitting has stopped, sweet relief the day I moved out, not soon enough, should have done it when I was five, I think it wouldn't have LOWERED the quality of my life….. And yet, now that they have stopped it, I am trapped with a mind which seems to have believed the crap it was feed. I _am _a worthless git, I _am_ deserving for every damn thing that happens to me, and _if_ someone attempts to treat me kindly, _clearly_ they can't see who I really am, and what I really deserve. Nothing. But. Loathing .and ..Hatred. Can't they look at me and see, it doesn't matter??? None of it matters.

I wonder, should I be able to fulfill the task of taking matters into my own hands, would anyone really care past the initial shock of it all??? I mean, there would be plenty of _reaction,_ but reacting and caring are to entirely different things…. I don't believe that after the first " I don't believe it" passed through everyone's mind, they would get on with their lives, like I was yesterdays dinner - not really much to hold me back, is there…. But , what would it start, or, what could it start. What if there was one that really did care… cared so much that they felt that they could no longer continue on, or someone who was also hovering at the edge of the abyss, and decided that if I could do it, then maybe she could too…. Last thing I need is to go to hell with TWO deaths on my head…… (to top of the other, hmm, discrepancies, shall we say.. good thing I like hot climates, Hun?)

Sometimes I wonder if it is possible to cheat god - for example, if you decide that you want to die, but don't want to be too obvious about it, so you develop an eating disorder and starve, does that count as suicide??

Strange, the things that go through your head, the secrets you cannot tell anyone, even thought they try to guess, or maybe I am less skilled at disguising things now than I used to be.

I don't know if it is from my " intensity" as it has been called, repression , as I call it, genetics, as the cased might be, or remainders of getting hit about the head as a child, but I am frequented by pains in my head which at times can e rather unbearable. Blinding and debilitating, wonder why I am so miserable to be around, here's a clue - be in agony for 4 days, having to try to continue on with your day to day activities when you would prefer to apply the avada kedavra curse on yourself can be a little, shall we say, tiresome….. And everyone wonders at how I keep myself looking so stunning, aha. It's much easier just to let everyone got with the mean, cold-hearted prick impression, that to run the risk that one might actually have a clue of what I am, how I feel, how I hurt….. never let them know how you hurt, or what creates it, they will only use it against you…. This I have learned time and time again since I was a child, and lately have been fortunate enough not to have to worry about it anymore. They can't get you when they don't know a thing

Penance. Penance for what I am, for the fact that I even exist - how is it that so many people in the world die, get killed, acquire deadly diseases that they don't want - they have great lives, they enjoy their family, work, the experience of being…. How does it work that these people wind up dying, and yet, here I am, so many years later, still waiting for my turn to die, and it doesn't get granted. After all, its not like I am serving one of God's higher purposes, is it?

It's hard, the waiting - the knowledge that soon, I wont' be seeing those I am accustomed to - what will they think of me?? Do I really care, or am I, like them, merely curious???

I just can't take it anymore, I don't want to continue on with my miserable excuse of a life, constantly having to make up for all of my fuck ups. - being hated for everything I've ever done, right or wrong,,,, I am so completely sick of it all, I want a solution of some sort… where will I find it, I wonder. I hurt myself today, the pain reminding me that I still live. I loose myself in the power of the pain, the possibility that today I might succeed in the only goal I have had for the last 15 years.Until then, I'll keep disappearing into the beauty of the blood oozing from my skin. Time marches on , but I do not.


End file.
